Blaise's Letter
by Loobylooxxx
Summary: Remember Slug Club on the train? Maybe Blaise's mother isn't all she was cracked up to be...


Hey guys! Kind of depressing, but here we have it, my new fic :) Dedicated with thanks to madgirlwithwifi :) Also, if you could R+R that would be great! (If you like this one, I have another one kind of like it, just as depressing anyways, called Pieces) TTFN, Loobylooxxx

"I have a blade in my hand. Blood pooling around my thighs. Dripping on the sheets. Stains through to the mattress. I can't stop this. I won't even try.

She was screaming in my face. Stupid inconsequental things. Hot breath making me screw my face up. Wiping flecks of spittle from my cheeks. Still I smirked. I wouldn't admit weakness. Wouldn't cry. Smirk. Made a snarky comment. The hands knocked things from my own, off my desk. The hands hit my own head. The feeling of being smashed into the nearest corner. The burn in the back of my eyes. Bite your toungue. Try to hide it. Nasty jibes when they see the tears. When she sees the tears. Hands pulling at the back of my jumper, no air. Cant breathe. Couldnt breathe anyway. Tears flow. Angry words enflame her. She goes mental. Hands hitting her own face. Nasty words from her past spewing from her lips. More swearing. More almost punches. The thumps as he comes upstairs. The anger on her face as she is dragged off me.*

And now. Blade safely hidden away with the bloody tissues for disposal the next day. Thighs burning. Not enough. *Pushing deeper with the blade. It wont cut through. Im trying, I really am. I want to hurt. I cant feel anything. The sting is tiny inconsequental. And she's back, quick stand up. She says a fake apology. Then nasty words. Threats. Manipulations. I know what she wants. She wont get it, not this time. Pushing her face near mine: "Slap me. Go on. I know you want to" Refusals and pushing her away. "Dont push me" Pushing me back. Harder. To hurt.

Later will come the denials. I never touched you. I love you. Twisted. I don't want it. I don't want her. I don't want anyone. Her coming too close makes me flinch now. I can hear them. Hushed conversations where he tries to calm her down. She never listens. Threats. Promises. Theyre the same. She comes upstairs again. Tense muscles. Trickles of blood glueing my skin to my trousers. The relief as she goes into her own bedroom. The sickness and fear that she will hear the scratching of a quill. Will come in and see this. Will know that it is about her. I feel ill. Not ill. I dont know. I dont feel anything.

I wish I was dead. I wish I wasnt here. 3 weeks left. I dont know what to do. Write. If I dont get this down I'll cut again. Upper thighs only. Clothes show anything else. In her better moments she boasts that she knows everything about me. I can test her. She says that she would know if i got bonded. Never seen my scars though. I wonder if she sometimes thinks that she hasnt seen my thighs in months. If it would worry her. I doubt it. She wouldnt think that her precious little boy would do something like that.

Its times like these that I think about death. All the different ways i could do it. A piece of rope in the bathroom. Bleeding out in the bath. Fall off my broom. Overdose. Sometimes i think that i could like if i had some kind of release. For a while i was obsessed with getting some cocaine. Muggle drugs. I read about heroin. Heard that some people had done soft drugs. I want release. I want out. As much as i cut, its not doing anything. All the knives in the kitchen are blunt and wont sharpen. Charmed to not cut the user. I have tried.

I sometimes bring my veins to the surface and stare. Imagine cutting. Imagine free flowing blood. A wand at my temple. Holes in fingers. Holes in head. An unforgivable. Lock and load boys. A quote from a movie I dont know the name of. I know I wont live past 20. I probably wont make it past the end of the year, or at least I am hoping. A coward at heart. How many potions does it take to kill somebody? Ironic. The potions take away the pain forever. I know where they are. I cant stop writing though.

I dont know if you'll understand. If I'll send this. I dont know what this is. I wish I . I dont know. I cant think of anything big to live for. Hogwarts. You. I cant live on that. I just want to be alone. I dont know if i can wait 3 weeks. Sometimes i have 'sick fancies'. Like in Great expectations. Miss Havisham. Alone forever. Muggle Literature. Mine will be voluntary. I think. I dont know anymore. They think I know everything. They think that I'm clever. Handsome. Toned. See that carved into my legs? Fat. Ugly. Slut. Bastard. You know what? These are my Sorry's. You'll never hear them. You'll never even see them. You can fuck yourself. My hands even hesitate to write now. I can joke about her with my friends. They think they know. They make jokes. Sometimes they look at me with pity. I dont know if im giving away too much. Dont care really.

What I was saying before about drugs. I snorted some ground agate powder. Pathetic. Nice burn though. Freak's son. Freak shows. I belong there. Stupid. I call myself slut a lot. Dont know why. Never done anything with a boy. A girl. I think I know what I want. I'm not going to write it down. It's too real. I don't know what is mine. What is conditioned in me. Cutting, inspired by a Muggle magazine. Hogwarts, friends. I don't have anything that's my own.

I need someone. I need another person like me. Alone together. Cutting together. And when we want to end it all we can climb up to the astronomy tower and kill ourselves together. And others maybe. Go to hell. Torture there isn't self inflicted. No effort. They're talking again. Loud indistiguishable murmurs. How is it that i know exactly what they're saying and yet not at the same time? I can't cope with this anywmore. I see high buildings and think to jump. The Eiffel Tower. I couldn't go up - too great a temptation. And safety nets.

I've lost it now. Maybe I lost it a long time ago. Will you come to me Draco? Will you die with me Draco?"

I stop reading.

"Headmaster, Blaise needs help. I know I'm... not your favourite person right now, but Blaise... he's neutral! Save him. Please."

Dumbledore looks at me, his grey eyes staring deep into my soul. The questioning look on his face confuses me. What is it? He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Takes a sip of water. Tries again.

"Draco... He's already dead."


End file.
